


Wrapped up in you

by Kore88



Series: Good Omens Celebration [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Contrast, Day 2, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, GOC2020, Good Omens Celebration 2020, M/M, The Night After the Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), cotton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kore88/pseuds/Kore88
Summary: Aziraphale didn't mean to snoop around Crowley's apartment whilst he was sleeping. But without a book to hand, what else was he supposed to do?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Celebration [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728556
Kudos: 26
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	Wrapped up in you

**Author's Note:**

> A quick ficlet written around both prompts of day 2 of the Good Omen's Celebration for the 30th birthday.
> 
> Today's prompts were Contrast and Cotton

Aziraphale knew he probably shouldn't be snooping around Crowley’s apartment, but the demon had been asleep for a while and he was getting bored. Crowley had made a valiant effort to stay up and talk with Aziraphale. But given the bottle of wine they had shared at the bus stop, and the five or so more once they reached Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale could hardly blame him for getting sleepy. Especially given that as, as Crowley had slurred at one point, stopping time does take an awful lot out of you.

They had rehashed the events of the day, filling in the gaps in each other’s stories. Afterwards the conversation had turned to all their favourite things about the earth. Things they were glad to have saved. Even if they weren’t sure they would actually be around to enjoy them once their respective head offices got hold of them. Aziraphale had been waxing lyrical about his favourite composers when he realised Crowley wasn’t chiming in to argue with him as he usually would. He had looked up to see the demon, slouched on the sofa, eyes almost drooping shut. Aziraphale was loathe to let the night end, and briefly considered suggesting coffee. Crowley looked so tired though, possibly the most vulnerable Aziraphale had even seen him. He sighed before leaning over and gently shaking the demon’s shoulder.

“My dear, I think its probably time you went to bed”

“wassat angel?” Crowley barely even opened his eyes.

“You seem tired my dear, you should head to bed.”

“mmm not tired, could talk for hours me” Crowley had protested, making what looked to be a concerted effort to sit up straight. Well as straight as Crowley ever sat.

“Honestly Crowley you aren’t fooling anyone, off to bed with you, you wily old serpent.”

The demon had grumbled at that, making a big production of standing up from the sofa. He slunk across the room before pausing in the doorway.

“Promise you’ll be here when I wake up.” He spoke so quietly that Aziraphale wasn’t really sure whether he had had actually heard the words or just imagined them somehow.

“I’ll see you in the morning Crowley” he said, hedging his bets either way.

“G, night Angel”

Aziraphale had just sat quietly for a good while after that, taking the time to really let things sink in. Eventually though he had started to get bored. This would usually be when he would pick up a book and start reading, but none of his books were here. He remembered then that none of his books were anywhere. They were nothing but ash now, drifting through the remains of his once beloved bookshop.

The thought had made him restless, desperate for something to keep him occupied. He started by tidying up the remains of their night of drinking. Crowley’s flat was so neatly arranged that the mess looked glaringly out of place. He’d managed to occupy himself for a while by watching the first light of dawn slowly spread across the sleeping city. All too aware that this was a daybreak that might never have happened.

Still there was only so long a view of the centre of London could be interesting. Instead he ended up turning his gaze inwards. He told himself he was just having a quick look about. But after seeing a statue that he was sure he recognised from a certain church, he may have got a bit carried away in his investigations. At this point there was no way he could deny to himself that he was doing anything other than some proper snooping through Crowley’s minimal possessions.

There was only one door that he hadn’t tried yet. Other than the door to Crowley’s bedroom of course. It was hard to spot at first. Blending into the wall so that it almost wasn’t there. Aziraphale had deliberately saved it to last. Figuring there must be something important behind it, if Crowley had gone to so much effort to make it unnoticeable. He opened it with anticipation to reveal a small cupboard stacked with piles of fabric. He felt rather foolish that his great discovery had turned out to be Crowley’s airing cupboard.

He was about to close the door, when something caught his eye. There was one blanket standing in sharp contrast to all the rest. Light coloured cotton, instead of rich dark silk. He reached out and unfolded the soft blanket carefully. He hadn’t really needed to, had recognised even when folded the pattern of his own tartan. Still though there was something concrete about holding the blanket in his hands.

Aziraphale could tell this wasn’t a new blanket. Or even something that had been bought and then put away just in case. It wasn’t tatty or frayed per see, but you could tell from looking that it was a blanket that had been used. A lot. Aziraphale blushed as he wondered just how many nights Crowley had spent wrapped in _his_ tartan. Turns out he had found something important behind that door after all.

He decided the safest thing to do would be to miracle the blanket back to exactly how he found it. Not confident in his ability to fold it exactly right. He went to shut the cupboard door but hesitated for a moment. There was just something about the image of the one beige blanket surround by so much black and red. Something so distinctly his surrounded by everything else so very Crowley. As if the demon was carrying around a small part of Aziraphale with him.

Of course that was it! The idea coming to him with a flash as Agnes’ prophesy finally made sense. A part of him in Crowley, a carefully chosen face. He knew how they could survive what was to come. He shut the cupboard door, before bustling off to wake the demon. They had work to do.


End file.
